


Perks of the Job

by Omega412



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Anal Sex, Animatronic sex, Complete, F/M, Interrupted Sex, Masturbation, Pornography, Sex Toys, Sex at work, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omega412/pseuds/Omega412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have a new job at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, watching robots and collecting a check for nearly no work on your part. When your nightly indiscretions get interrupted by one of the animatronics you should be watching, you realize you won't be as bored as you had thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night 1

This is an absolute cakewalk of a new job, you tell yourself. Watching a bunch of kids’ animatronics for six hours a night? Easy money. Not a lot of money, but you don’t really look through the papers to find a _good_ job, just _a_ job. At least that’s what you told yourself. Plus, you rock the uniform.

Your new bosses installed you in your little office, taking off a little bit before midnight. Fine by you; it gave you some time to get settled in. You put your feet up and crack a few vertebrae in your spine; only six hours to go.

* * *

After the first two, the novelty of being in a new place with a new job was wearing thin. Even the guy on the phone didn’t seem into giving you instructions. In fact, he was being kind of a creep. What kind of sicko made creepy jokes like that in a professional setting? _He’s a creep_ , you tell yourself as you pull up your phone and start flicking through websites.

As you scroll, there’s a tiny part of your brain, telling you to check the cameras. But, shit, why bother?

* * *

You look up from your scrolling to see the clock. It’s only 3:06 AM and there is absolutely sweet fuck-all left to do. It’s not like robots _move_ without permission, and you’ve exhausted the entire internet. You’re sure that there’s nothing else that you haven’t checked out in the three boring hours that you’ve been sitting in the security booth.

Well… Maybe not _every_ website…

The moment the thought hits you, a warmth begins pooling into your belly. At the same time, you shake your head and turn your phone off. _You wanna talk about creepy people,_ your higher brain functions shriek. _How about people who masturbate at work? People who masturbate at work, when they work in a facility for_ children _?_

You let the thought go.

You think of maybe checking on the robots.

Your fingers graze your phone again.

_Fuck it_ , you decide as you open your phone back up and start typing in the site for your favorite porn site. _It’s not like there are any kids here_ now. _There’s nothing here, not even management._

Your hand slips down your pants and finds the sensitive parts underneath. Your fingers graze against your clitoris, making you throw your head back and whimper softly. You stare at the people on your phone, watching them fuck roughly. The man had the woman bent over a desk; had her hair bunched into one fist. With each thrust, the woman’s head hit the wall in front of her.

You prop your phone against the monitors in your office and sit back in your chair. With your newly freed hand, you grab roughly at your breasts. You push three fingers into your pussy, wetting your hand. The feeling of your slick palm against your clitoris threatens to push you to an orgasm. On one hand, getting this done sooner rather than later would be more appropriate in terms of professionalism. On the other hand, no one is coming to this restaurant for another few hours and you haven’t been in this sort of mood in a while. You alternate between thrusting your fingers inside yourself and stroking your clit with one hand. You’re still close, but not as dangerously close as you had been.

Just as your orgasm washes over you, you notice a figure standing in the doorway. At first you’re terrified that it’s one of your managers. You tell yourself that you should stop, but you’re already at completion. As you focus in, you can see that it’s not one of your managers at all; it’s one of the robots.

His rusty red fur gleams in the dim lights of your office. He has one eye, the other is covered by an eyepatch. His lower jaw hangs slack, making him constantly gape at what he’s seeing. In this case, you with your hands down your pants and up your shirt, while pornography moans on your phone. Distantly, you remember one of the managers saying that the fox animatronic—Foxy, they had said—was in a state of disrepair. When you asked about it, management had made a few shrugging gestures. Some throats were cleared. But it seemed that part of the disrepair involved it being able to move. The one eye that the fox had seemed to stare into you, neither condemning, nor praising. His gaze was quizzical as your orgasm pulsed through your body.

The silence in the office space was punctuated by the moans from the porn stars on your phone. With the cleaner of your two hands, you grab your phone and, with an awkward glance at the robot, shut it off.

“Okay, big guy,” you tell him, getting your uniform back into place with shaky hands. “Time for you to head back to wherever you were…” The robot stared back at you, silent. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was staring at your hand, the fingers still gritty with cum.

You stand and tentatively cross the room. You stand on your tiptoes and laid your hand on the side of his muzzle to turn his head back in the direction of the rest of the restaurant. Its hard to say whether his head turned on its own or your hand slipped, but rather than turn his head, you placed your hand in his mouth. Almost immediately, you jerk it away. For one, fleeting second, you’re afraid that the huge jaws will take your entire hand away. Instead, it seems like nothing happened at all. The animatronic’s stare is still fixed forward, not a limb on it has moved.

At that moment, the alarm on your phone starts buzzing. It’s 6:00 AM. You get to go home. Almost immediately, the tinkling music of the pizzeria starts pumping through the speakers. Without a word, your private moment of indiscretion forgotten, the fox animatronic walks away without a word. You follow his path down the hallway with your eyes. A strange part of you wants to follow him.

_What for,_ you ask yourself. _Are you going to ask him not to tell anyone?_

* * *

That day, you toss and turn in your bed. _Just the new sleep schedule_ , you tell yourself. You take sleeping pills with water and fall into a weak sleep, plagued by dreams of something sharp, something pleasurable, and wake up soaking wet.


	2. Night 2

At your home, you decide that last night should not have happened. It was an absolute fluke that you didn’t get caught, let alone fired. _You_ deserve _to be fired,_ you tell yourself over your cold cereal. _What if those robots have cameras in their eyes? What if management is reviewing the tapes and saw you jilling off and is considering firing your dumb ass right now?_

Then again, if they had cameras in their bots, they wouldn’t need a night guard.

You pack your backpack for the night ahead of you. Some food, a bottle of water, an energy drink for when things get rougher. Then your eyes fall on the shoebox near the head of your bed. You turn over the idea of what’s inside; a bullet vibrator, one of those small ones meant to be pressed against one’s clit, controlled by a remote. Six patterns of vibration. On one hand, if you get the urge to cum again, the vibrator will handle it faster than your hands ever could. On the other hand, _normal_ people didn’t have to make that assessment because _normal people didn’t masturbate at work_.

And yet, there you were. You could squeeze your legs together and still feel the rush of sensation that came when the fox animatronic set his eye on you.

The fox. Foxy, you remember. Foxy had rushed in and seen you masturbating, which was hot in its own way. Voyeurism without the chance of actually being spied on. But then there’s the fact that it tasted you. In its own way. You put your hand in its mouth and touched its leathery tongue with your hand. That was kind of hot too. You load the vibrator with fresh batteries, then test it against your arm. Even after it’s off, the vibrator leaves a tingle on your skin. _It’s a robot,_ you tell yourself. _He wasn’t watching you or tasting you, or any of the other weird shit you’re coming up with._

_But it was hot though. And he’s the best company I’ve got._

Before you can stop yourself, you toss the vibrator into your backpack and rush out the door.

* * *

 

As you settle into your space for the next night and listen to the message from the phone guy, you tell yourself that yesterday should _not_ be repeated. Just watch the stupid robots, get paid, and _don’t_ masturbate. Telling yourself not to masturbate at work feels as stupid as that “Rules of Safety” poster in one of the hallways. You roll your eyes as you flick through the cameras and see it. Don’t shit on the floor. Don’t masturbate on the job. Easy rules that people are always ignoring.

Your backpack sits between your feet as you check through the cameras. You tap it occasionally, making sure it’s still there.

At Pirate’s Cove, you stop for a second. Foxy should be in there somewhere. You toy with the idea of going and seeing him. But that’s stupid. You’d be caught on the cameras leaving your post, provided that the cameras recorded _and_ transmitted. But you just want to see him. In a way, you’ve bonded with him. He’s tasted your cum. You’re connected. Even if he doesn’t have a real tongue to taste with, you’re still sort of turned on by the idea.

You nudge your bag with your foot and the vibrator buzzes against your foot. You reach down and pick it up, toying with it. You twist the wire around your index finger, letting it turn red and swollen before letting go and letting the blood keep circulating in your finger. You set the tablet down. To your left, something is humming a cutesy tune. You turn and there he is: Foxy.

Just like last night, he doesn’t maul you; you’re starting to think that the guy on the phone has some serious issues. Instead, he stares down at you. At the item in your hand.

You stand up and drop your uniform slacks, exposing your underwear. It’s red, like his fur, but nowhere near as fluffy. Instead, they hug your vulva, making it look swollen and erotic. Slowly, you hold up the vibrator for his inspection. “You see this?” Foxy doesn’t respond; doesn’t move. You feel heat coiling in your pussy as you slip the bullet down the front of your panties. You click the vibrator up to the first setting and close your legs together to hold it there.

You drop back into the chair and kick your slacks off. You splay your legs out, draping them on the arms of the chair. You make a show of how wide you can get your legs, and rub the vibrator around. Foxy stands, staring unblinking. For a second, you start feeling kind of stupid, masturbating for this fox robot, and you consider calling it quits then. Pulling your pants on. Continuing on with your boring job.

All at once, he comes forward. In the light, you notice that the disrepair was worse than you had thought. There’s a huge gash in his torso, and most of the fur is missing from his left arm, exposing a robotic hand. Still slack-jawed, as he had been last night, Foxy leans over you and reaches that robotic hand for your breast. Almost in a direct mimicry of what he had seen the night before, Foxy’s robotic paw squeezed your breast against your body, gripping too tightly for it to be natural, his claws poking little holes in your uniform top.

“Do you like this?” You know that you won’t get a response. You don’t care, either. It just makes it more real for you. “I’m hot for you, baby. I want your cock.” You reach for his crotch, massaging the front of his pants (surprisingly intact, considering the rest of him).

In that moment, you grasp something phallic.

Phone man is way more twisted than you thought.

You tug down the fox’s pants and there’s a harness for a strap-on welded into his skin. Held against his thigh with a rubber band, a thick, silicone dildo. The sight of it, the ideas of what it could mean for you, combined with the vibrations pulsing on your clitoris send you over the edge. You tug on the dildo, playing at jerking him off as you orgasm. As you come down, his claw-hand still gripping your breast, you give those blank gold eyes a breathless smile.


	3. Night 3

On your third day of work, you actually show up early, just by ten minutes. The cleaning crew smiles and waves at you, and you wave back; it’s best not to look suspicious at this point. You check out the cameras as you sit down. Flicking through, making sure everyone is where they should be. Sure enough, the crew bypasses your new lover and just mops the floor near him. No one has any idea about the harness under his pants, or your behavior with him. A smirk comes to your lips. Good. 

You’ve done your research tonight, spending a solid hour on the internet. Nothing about sex; you’ve been doing that for a while. But you know your target now. You know everything now, as compensation for him not being able to speak for himself and tell you anything. Foxy the Pirate, originally commissioned in the 70’s, usually plays the villain in the Fazbear story. This particular model is broken, but you couldn’t find any details as to why. Truly a golden age for the Fazbear gang, lacking any villain or conflict. Fortunately, he’s not too out of order to walk. Or to fuck you.

//

Tonight he comes straight to you, without waiting around until 2 or so. Your shift started, you kicked off your slacks, and there he was. He didn’t even stop at the doorway anymore. Instead he walks straight in, taking up more than half the room and pressing you against the desk that the monitors rest on. You don’t mind the size of him. In fact, you’re enjoying how small you feel in comparison. Dangerous vulnerability sinks into you. You lay a hand on his shoulder, press a kiss to the side of his muzzle.

“Wanna skip the bullshit tonight?”

No crackle of static leaks from the voice box in his throat. You strip your panties off and toss them across the room. His arm mechanically flops onto the desk and clears most of the contents, knocking the fan, paper balls, and a paper soda cup to the floor. You sit up on the desk and spread your legs wide. You rub upwards, spreading wetness from your slit to your clitoris. His gold eye is impassive, but you know there is a change from yesterday to today.

You put your arms around him, and he takes a complicit step forward. You shuffle his pants down, exposing the silicone cock, admiring it. It hangs like a dark red pendulum, draped with delicate veins and specked with nubs that got larger towards the base. You snap the rubber band off and the dildo swings between his legs. Adrenaline and arousal pump through your system as you bring the tip of the strap-on to your entrance. How long had it been since you had gotten laid? Possibly ages, and you anticipated the stretch that was coming. You wet the tip of it, barely fucking yourself with the tip of it. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move at all, but leans forward as you lean back. Foxy leans over you, supporting himself on his arms as you loop your legs around his waist.

Without warning, Foxy seems to crumple. His arms clutch around you and his nose seems to tap the desk. His hips jut forward, impaling you on his length. A loud, keening moan crawls out of your throat as he fills you, stretching you further you had ever been stretched. A quiet groan emanates from the suit, machinery grinding into place. Rather than withdrawing from you, he thrust forward more. His cock is thick and long, pushing hard into you. He feels like he’s pushing your insides out of his way, invasive and deliciously cruel.

His thrusts set a fast pace. As your bodies shake the desk, the detritus of the desk shiver and fall of the edges. Foxy’s hook digs into your hip, eliciting a whimper. The friction sends delicious shockwaves up your spine. There were nubs at the base of Foxy’s shaft, flicking your clit on the way in. His claw tangled into your hair, pulling hard and stinging a thousand places in your scalp. You cling to him, desperately bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck me, Foxy,” you whimper. You clutch harder, and the machinery groans louder. The heat builds up between the two of you. The orgasm hits you like a car, feeling electricity coursing through your body. Whiteness takes over your vision as he pounds you into the desk. You lock your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles behind him, holding him inside you as your clench around him. The aftershocks pulse through you, like secondary orgasms. He keeps thrusting, keeps pushing the orgasms out of you.

Eventually, you have to push him away. His thrusts go from fast to slow, as if he’s confused by your refusal. “I’m done,” you pant. As he steps back, his cock slips out of you. You watch as it falls back into place between his legs. Still catching your breath, you stand on wobbly legs. You embrace him, a clumsy imitation of a lover’s cuddle. He presses on you intently, the tip pushing against your thigh. “You want more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay on this. Basically, it was a combination of school, work, and a lack of motivation.


	4. Night 4

You make a point to slouch back on your butt as you take a seat on your fourth day to do your five minutes of actual work. Foxy was an absolute demon in the sack, having fucked your four times the night before. If you could call it a “sack.” Your desk is hardly a bed, and you had considered a more comfortable arrangement last night, as the ridge of your desk formed a bright red line across your back. Between the indent on your back and the swollen labia, you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life. The pain is strong, but your desire is stronger. With a quick glance at the cameras to confirm that no one is too out of place (there isn’t, although Chica got stopped in a weird position earlier), you get up and leave your post. According to the maintenance guys, the cameras didn’t record a damn thing ever, meaning you are free to wander the hallways.

  
You trail your fingers along the walls, worrying the edges of drawings as you make your way to the Pirate’s Cove, where Foxy was allegedly out of order, hiding behind a curtain with a veiny silicone cock between his legs. Surely there is something more comfortable than a security desk behind those curtains.

  
You ascend the stage, push the curtains aside, and find Foxy slumped onto a crate of party supplies. Definitely not the level of comfort you had in mind. You continue to search, finding a few costumes, some inflatable props, but nothing really useful. Hell, the most comfortable thing backstage was Foxy himself.

  
… Not a bad idea actually.

  
“Are you active,” you mutter, picking up one of his arms. His head twitches towards you. His gold eyes level towards you, unblinking and unseeing. You shuffle his pants off. “Yeah, you are. Come here, baby, I’ve got an idea.”

  
You carefully lower him to the floor, positioning his legs and arms where you need them. His legs were bent, his feet planted flat on the floor. In the end, he was seated on the floor with his legs spread. You strip your pants off, tossing them aside and settling into Foxy’s lap. The fabric of his pants gently scrape against your knees as you guide him into you. Your pussy is still sore from yesterday, but you’re yearning for him and he slips into you easily. You want him desperately, wanting to feel him against you. You peel your shirt and bra off, throwing them to join your pants. Fully nude with Foxy for the first time, you relish the feeling of his fur on your skin, silky and ticklish. You could indulge in this for hours, like being wrapped up in a fur coat. You wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your head under his. You reach around and pull his arm’s around you, minding that Foxy’s hook ended up pointing away from you. Foxy’s heavy jaw rested on your shoulder.

  
You need friction. You need movement. You start to bounce on his cock, controlling the speed of your rutting. The sounds of creaking metal and your own moans fill the air. He slides in and out of you at a steady pace, pounding hard into you. Your body still aches from yesterday, but the pain mixes deliciously with the slippery friction. The pain throbs with your quickening heartbeat. The nubs rub hard against your clitoris, making you moan with need.

  
The orgasm hits you, making you shake in his arms. “Foxy, I love you,” you whimper, pushing harder and harder against his cock. You wrap around him, practically draped over him as you finished. You nuzzle against him, enjoying everything that you were feeling. You slide his cock out of you, you kiss his muzzle. You saunter over to your clothes and start getting dressed. You take stock of him: his unfocused eye, his ruffled fur, your fluids still soaking his cock. “God, I could do this for days.” 


	5. Night 5 and Epilogue

There was one other thing that you wanted to try. Foxy hadn’t been your first time, but you wanted him to have at least one of your firsts. You had been preparing for him all day, trying to work yourself up to it with different plugs that you had collected over the years. Could he even technically be your first at something if he wasn’t sentient? Most of your friends had a story about it. “My husband wanted to try it two weeks into the marriage.” “My high school boyfriend did it so that I didn’t lose my virginity.” Even your straight guy friends occasionally had a pegging story. “I let a robot fox fuck me up the ass because I was bored at work” didn’t really fit. 

That night, you go to Pirate’s Cove again. You don’t bother stopping at the security office, since your ass has been filled since around noon that day. You remembered yesterday, coming to the room, and how foreign it felt at the time. You had never gone into the cove before, but now the security office was getting boring. 

You slip past the curtains, into Foxy’s personal backstage area. You hadn’t taken stock of it before, but it was surprisingly small. About the size of a handicapped bathroom stall, it was a space only really meant to contain Foxy and his necessities. He stood at the very back, unmoving. There was only one piece of furniture: A work desk, meant for accommodating repairs. It came to just under your pelvis and was scattered with metal pieces, wrenches, and blue prints. 

As the clock ticked over to midnight, Foxy stalks over to you. His one gold eye glitters in the dark as he towers above you. You grin widely at him and take hold of the ripped edge of her furry chest. Your fingers graze the metal of his endoskeleton, cold and hard that warms under your touch. You guide him over to the work table. Pushing the desk scraps away with a clanging clatter, you bend over the desk and present yourself to him. As if you were in a sleazy dance club, you grind against him. The plug shifts inside you. You work blindly, jerking his pants until they fall to the exposed machinery of his ankles. Your fingers wrap around his silicone erection while your other hand eases they plug out of your ass. It slips out of you, making you mewl and whine at the loss. Foxy continues to take tiny, shuffling steps towards you while you lube him up with lotion from your bag. You pump his cock once, twice, until it’s slipping around in your hand. 

Finally, you’re ready. You get the head of his erection inside you and he seems to know the drill. Foxy grabs your hips, his hook scraping against you, trying to find purchase. Before he can scratch you too badly, you take it, holding it against your hips while you press back again him. The sounds in the room are rhythmic: the squeaking of his joints, the creaking of the work desk, your panting breath. His shaft slides in and out of your ass, the delicious friction threatening to send you over the edge in less than a minute. The nubs at the base of his cock tickle against the ring of muscle, a new sensation that made each thrust feel like the first. 

As the first wave of an orgasm rushes up to you, the curtain of the stage suddenly snaps open. Backlit by dim bulbs, the hiring manager stares down at you. Powerless to stop any of it—the discovery, the humiliation, or Foxy’s clockwork movements—you close your eyes and submit to your fate. 

//

You got fired from Freddy Fazbear’s. They were going to fire you when you got to your office, but you never went in. They had to watch you on the cameras, adding an overtone of deep embarrassment to proceedings, as you read and signed your termination papers. No reference, no severance pay. No surprises. Fortunately, your time at Freddy’s didn’t constitute too much of a gap in your resume, so you just left it off. During your next job interview, you got something better. Better pay, better hours, better opportunities in the future. Soon, Fazbear’s just became a weird memory of your sexually deviant rebellion. 

One winter, just after the first real snowfall, you find yourself driving down Hawthorne Avenue. Actual memory lane, where the pizzeria had just gone out of business. As you stare out the window, a color catches your eye, making you slow your car. You pull into the back parking lot, near the dumpster. When you get out of the car, the stench of molding pizza hangs over the area. You walk up to a snow-covered pile of garbage, one with reddish fur poking through the wet crust of snow. Your hand, lacking gloves, brushes the the snow away. 

It’s Foxy. Same blank stare, same busted jaw. The only difference is the scent; when you lean in close, he smells more like mildew than rot. 

Life is full of simple rules to follow. Don’t touch Freddy. Don’t masturbate at work. Don’t go through other people’s trash. You left Foxy’s body up and unlock your backseat with one hand. As you stash him into your car, you smile. You’ve never been good about following the rules. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's basically the end of it! Thanks for sticking with me throughout the duration of the story! This is the first time I've finished anything in a while. I don't anticipate writing anything else for the FNAF fandom, but I've said that before. Projects I have planned include: a debauched Skyrim adventure, various fills for the Overwatch kink meme, and indulging different fancies as they take me.


End file.
